#I don't know the name of the ship yet so I'm putting all the possible ones

[lancemickbfs]

mick listening to lance talk (feat estie bestie)

#lance stroll #mick schumacher #schulance #micklance #mlance #lmick #lick #schumance #milance #I don't know the name of the ship yet so I'm putting all the possible ones #i really love them #i'm obsessed for them #i need more fanfic about them #mick loves lance #lance loves mick

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Word Count: 7,840 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet

18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock

Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.

The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.

He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.

It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.

But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the others—but you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.

You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.

"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.

Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.

And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.

You'd fainted in Astarion's arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.

"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.

"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It was— It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame him—he's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"

You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.

"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"

Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."

She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."

You snorted. "Yeah, I know—Shadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."

You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.

It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.

The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.

She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.

"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.

She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.

You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's just—"

"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.

But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if I—"

"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."

Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.

Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.

He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.

You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."

From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."

He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."

"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.

"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."

You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."

"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dry—but a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.

Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"

"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.

He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.

"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darling—I smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable

"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."

He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you need—" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.

"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.

Astarion sighed. "...Night."

~❊~

You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.

You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.

"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.

"Stop what?"

"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.

Your body flushed with heat. "I'm not—"

"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."

You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"

Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with him—" You spluttered. "—it had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."

You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"

"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."

You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.

His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.

"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."

"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"

Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.

Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"

"I could go for a little," you said.

Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.

You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.

He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.

"You're starving, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."

Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."

His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"

A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.

Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."

"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.

He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."

~❊~

Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.

You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.

You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."

Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.

He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.

A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"

You nodded. "Just a bit."

Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."

You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.

"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.

He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the others—"

Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."

Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.

"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.

You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.

It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.

Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"

You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.

The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like this—or, perhaps, further along.

You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.

Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"

You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.

Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.

One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"

"Please do," you said.

"Arms up."

He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.

"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.

"Yes, dear?"

You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."

He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.

"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.

You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.

"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.

You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"

"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love this—and believe me, I do love this—I can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."

Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.

Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.

The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.

Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.

Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.

He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.

Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.

Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at you," he whispered.

The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.

He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.

He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.

"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through you—as did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."

You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.

You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.

He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.

"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.

He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.

"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."

Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.

He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.

You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.

Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.

Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"

"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.

He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."

He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.

You smiled. "There's more where that came from."

Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.

You nodded. "I can take a few more."

He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."

You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."

The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."

He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.

Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.

He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.

"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.

You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."

The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."

You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."

He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of me— Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."

You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"

Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.

"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.

Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.

You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.

You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.

"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.

He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.

Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.

Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.

The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.

Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.

But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.

He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"

You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.

"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."

He snorted. "Excuse you!"

"It's all over your face!"

He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."

Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."

He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.

"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.

"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"

Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."

You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You sucked—hard—and a rumbling moan came from his chest.

"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.

You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.

"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."

He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."

You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.

His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.

His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."

You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."

Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.

"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."

He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.

You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.

When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."

You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."

You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right now—or before it even began—and I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."

He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."

Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.

You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"

~❊~

You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.

Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your blood—all without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.

Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.

You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.

You were wrong.

Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.

"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"

You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"

She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"

"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."

She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, too—Astarion especially."

You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.

You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.

Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"

You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"

"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."

Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.

"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.

Astarion smirked.

"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."

He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.

Karlach squeaked.

"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."

"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothing—I broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."

You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"

Astarion opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.

A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.

You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."

Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"

Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"

"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."

"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."

☞ ❊ ☜

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) {here}!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!}

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #astarion fic #astarion smut #neil newbon #d&d #dnd #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion my beloved #neil newbon astarion #astarion neil newbon #vampire #vampire dnd #dnd game #bg3 gale #karlach #shadowheart #laezel #bg3 wyll #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion ancunin #case’s fic

[liesmyth]

Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

#Anonymous #ask #tlt thoughts #tlt meta #tlt worldbuilding #this is 80% headcanon and fried air #tlt

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them. 

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his. 

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear. 

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing. 

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body. 

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this. 

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place. 

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that. 

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted. 

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you. 

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands. 

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

 “Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back. 

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all. 

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears. 

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering. 

 “You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his. 

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.” 

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.” 

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you. 

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes. 

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self? 

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed. 

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.” 

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you. 

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for. 

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved. 

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you. 

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

#armitage hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you #my writing #starlightsearches mixtape milestone 📼

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

104/150 with lethal company?

104) I can hear it calling my name

.........

[Y/n], January 29th, [Log 001]

---I'm afraid this will be my last log. So I'm keeping this encrypted.

Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. And I'm terrified. We started on this job as strangers, and we became family. Now I'm all alone because of a stupid mask. A piece of scrap we should've just sold off.

But he thought it would be funny to wear. I don't blame him. He was always a jokester, willing to do anything to turn a frown upside down and make light of our dreary trips. I know he didn't mean to hurt us. He thought it was harmless. Honest to god we thought so too.

Until he started vomiting blood and tried grabbing me. He tore off my helmet, along with my tracker, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how. But I wish I was smarter about it, because I got lost.

Then I heard the ship's engines.

They must've thought I was dead. Or maybe they all died and the autopilot kicked in. I'm not sure. I don't even know the current time. But what I do know is that I'm stuck here now. Possibly forever. I could make an SOS but that monster is still outside. I had to barricade myself in this storage room and wait until it goes away.

It keeps knocking. I can hear it calling my name. But I know it's not him.

To anyone who reads this, don't pick up the porcelain masks. They aren't worth shit. It'll tempt you to put it on. Don't. You'll find better loot elsewhere. If you see anyone already wearing it, kill them. Stun them. Run. Whatever. Just don't let it take you.

And if you see me wearing it, put me out of my misery. I promise I'll understand---

Finishing what would likely be your final log, you sighed and slumped back against the wall, letting the tablet slip from your hands.

You don't know how long you've been stuck here--whether it's been hours or days.

But all you know is that the Masked on the other side of the door hasn't left. It was using your coworker's corpse, mimicking his voice as it pounded on the steel and tried convincing you to let it in, even shattering the window. For some reason it refused to leave you alone, and kept begging and begging until it began screaming unintelligently...

That would go on and on until eventually it would cease, weakly clawing at the door, only to rinse and repeat once it rested its voice.

You were starving, trying your best to ration the jar of pickles you were luckily able to find in this storage room.

Unfortunately, that's as far as your luck will go at this point. They were sour and made you want to vomit every time you ate one. But while you didn't want starvation to take your life, you weren't exactly sure how you really wanted to go out instead.

It sure as hell wasn't gonna be from that bastard who took away your friends.

"It's clear....all clear......come on out....the ship is leaving..leave....out.....COME OUT..!! COME OUT!! COMEOUTCOMEOUT-!!"

With your heart hammering in your chest, you curled up and covered your ears, squeezing both eyes shut. 'Fuck, it's losing its mind again...this is a nightmare..why did I ever take this job?' You tried not to focus on the screams so much, and instead prayed for some kind of miracle.

But in space, would anyone really hear your prayers?

Yet somebody must have, because the screaming abruptly stopped a minute later, being replaced by the sounds of heavy thumping and growling drawing near.

You only knew one other alien creature that made those.

And you knew it was pissed off.

Getting up and backing away from the door, you fearfully clutched a stop sign as you heard a series of terrified shrieks, roars, slamming and crashing sounds....before silence followed, save for the low growls you heard earlier and chewing noises.

Cautiously, you went back over and pushed aside one of the things covering up the window, and the sight on the other side was quite nauseating:

The Thumper was hovering over the Masked's body, teeth covered in blood and flesh as it tore into it, clearly wanting to savor this midnight snack.. But eventually it decided to drag the rest of the corpse away and to another part of the facility, only leaving behind a few shattered fragments of white dirty porcelain.

You couldn't believe it.

You were actually happy that a Thumper, of all things, saved your skin.

But you sure as hell didn't want it coming back for a second lunch. Now was your window of opportunity to get out of here. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only reason you were able to grab your loot and book it out of that storage room, being careful not to run into that Thumper again.

At least now you could go outside and (hopefully) send an S.O.S.

#saw this an immediately thought of the masked/mimics #clanask #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #lethal company masked #lethal company thumper #angst/horror prompt

[maraudersmyloves]

You good there, darling?

ship: James potter x reader

warnings: use of Y/N

request: no

You need to hurry up or you’ll be late to your job. Which would mean that you won’t get through the crowd. You work with the NHL to take pictures at the end of every match, it is a fairly easy job with good pay but the possibility of falling in front of twenty thousand people looming over your head almost makes you regret choosing the job. Almost.

You push through people to get to the security waiting for you. You spot Adam and Jim on duty and can already feel their anger. They’re nice people and only doing their job but you found that they really don’t appreciate lateness.

You get your camera ready while walking so as to not have to endure their glares for longer than necessary.

“Y/N! You’re late!” Jim calls in your direction.

“yeah, yeah, i know.” you say while quickly patting him on the chest and smiling sweetly at him causing Jim to roll his eyes.

You push yourself onto the ice, glad for the fact that it’s already been skated on enough to give you a bit of grip. Just as you reach the middle and lift the camera to your eye, the first hockey player of the gryffindor team skates on.

It all goes pretty fast, you do your thing while the players you’ve known for years plus two new ones you don't know yet skate on. You spot the first and quickly snap a few pictures, he has long black waves and is just genuinely pretty with his blue eyes and strong nose.

One of the star players waves to you and you crouch down to get a better angle. Your eyes widen as you feel your foot slip as you make the movement. You feel the panic deep in your chest, you’ve never fallen and you don’t want to start now, at one of their biggest games yet. You can practically feel the eyes drilling down into you as you fall down.

A strong arm hooks under yours and catches you mid fall. Your heart is still beating when you turn to the figure who saved you from embarrassment or maybe caused you more, seeing as you had to ‘be saved’ from falling on your literal job, you haven’t decided yet.

Staring back at you is the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen. He has Brown eyes with some golden freckles around the iris and his hair is ruffled in that ‘i just got fucked’ way, while still having some defined curls.

Perfectly warm eyes, behind perfectly rimmed glasses. Accompanied by a perfectly tousled, fluffy, messy in all the right ways, head of dark hair.

The guy seems to blink out of some sort of trance and quickly helps you stand up, causing him to put one hand around his waist while easily lifting you up to a secure stance again. He combs his hand through his hair while making sure you’re alright, “you good there, darling” he asks in a slight british accent that makes your head all fuzzy.

You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but in reality more to stop ogling what you realise now must be the second new guy. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for catching me. That could’ve been really embarrassing, I've never fallen before. Especially because the middle has the most grip and that’s usually where I am. I- Sorry I am rambling.” You look up to see the guy smiling softly at you before he realises he’s still holding you by the waist and quickly steps back making you crave the warmth that surrounds him even through the thick hockey uniform.

“It’s fine, I don't mind. What’s your name?” he asks leaning slightly closer causing your breath to catch in your throat.

You mumble out your name but his face and him leaning slightly down and closer makes it pretty clear he didn’t hear you over all the other noise. You’re about to answer as the guy gets hit on the head. “Oi, Potter! Come back and do your job.” The black haired guy says.

“I gotta go, darling. I’m sorry” he skates off leaving to do your job on autopilot while your brain keeps replaying the conversation.

this is unedited. Part two?

#marauders #james potter #fluff #headcanon #james potter is so boyfriend #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #marauders era #james potter fluff #x reader #angst

[beerecordings]

i have seen people put together some background canon info about the egos and their appearances over the years, which is awesome and a huge feat, but I just wanted to compile some popular headcanons and fanon interpretations that might be relevant if someone new was trying to get into the fandom, or even that we may see references for in new canon. it's our CULTURE okay??

Chase having two kids: when Sean released CHASE he announced that Chase canonically has/had one child, but in Chase's original video he referred to Stacy taking the "kids," which lead to the popular interpretation that Chase had two young children. you might still see this around

Henrik's backstory: likewise, Sean used to make occasional references to Henrik having an ex-wife and possibly kids. some people consider this canon and others don't, because it was just in random gameplay vids, but you might see it referenced

Anti is a turtle: an OG ego meme. when Anti says "I am eternal" in Say Goodbye, it sounds like "I am a turtle." Sean saw this and reacted to it in a vid, and now there are occasional turtle references

Queer egos: obviously this is tumblr and queer headcanons abound. in my experience, the most popular interpretations include Jackie being trans and Marvin being mlm. you will see this frequently in the fandom

JJ's mutism: JJ first appears in a silent video with captions like an old-time movie, but Sean didn't confirm that he has mutism until later, and also incorporated British Sign Language in his most recent video. older portrayals of JJ - or less inclusive ones - might not feature his mutism. additionally you may encounter a variety of magical or practical aids to help him communicate. oh, and you might also hear JJ called Dapper Jack - we were the ones who named him Jameson Jackson!

Eye color: throughout the years the glitches that suggested Jack might be making ego content frequently featured changes in his eye color. Sean has had brown, green, pure black, and mismatched eyes on different occasions. it's unknown if these correspond to particular egos, but Anti has appeared with green, blue, and black most frequently

Henrik being tortured for nine months: after Henrik was attacked by Anti during a video, Jack posted a bloodied postcard depicting a beach in Germany. this lead to the popular conception that Henrik was taken by Anti and may have been tortured by him. the length of time between seeing him again was nine months

Jack in a coma: this is more canon than fanon, but we've been saying that Jack's been in a coma for years and years now, pretty much since Anti first got his hands on him. Jack later had a voiceover in a video where Chase told Jack he needs him to wake up.

shipping: some of the most popular ships include Marvin/Jackie and Chase/Henrik. you'll also see some Darkiplier/Anti. although the egos all look the same, there's no canon suggestion that any of them are related at this time.

friendships: Chase canonically refers to Jack as his friend, and the fact that Henrik tried to help save Jack has led to the popular conception that he and Chase at least know each other, and are possibly friends too. the others? no clue. oh except maybe probably Anti is holding JJ captive who knows

Phoenix Marvin: Jack once referred to Marvin as a phoenix from the ashes in a tumblr post and we all lost our minds about it. great motif. and of course he wears the cat mask, so you'll see a lot of Marvin with cats or being able to turn into a cat. his magical powers are not canon yet, so you'll see a huge variety, as well as magic or superpowers for other egos too

please feel free to add on to this!! I'm curious what would stand out to everyone else if they were trying to share the fanon with someone new

#jacksepticeye

[bestworstcase]

I think it'll be interesting when RWBYJ tells everyone about the ever after, specifically Oscar/Ozpin. I think that'll be a hell of a slap in the face to those two. Imo it's pretty clear that Oz doesn't like the Brothers (his lie for his curse literally puts them in the WORST light to anyone who hears it), but isn't exactly open about it nor does he think on it much. But hearing that the 'gods' are essentially just people who got kicked out of their home would make him. Well I hesitate to say that he'd flip the fuck out, but I definitely think he wouldn't be happy at ALL. I'm sure he'd be furious while simultaneously having an existential crisis.

Frankly, Oz is just. An interesting character when it comes to his thoughts on the Brothers. He went from more or less listening to Light without question (but immediately started questioning when Salem talked to him- "Unsure of where his loyalties still lay-" he trusts Salems words but is confused about his stance on Light, perhaps afraid of questioning him), to putting them in a bad light repeatedly and more or less giving up on his task (there's far far easier ways to unite the world i.e. war- why would he deliberately make it hard on himself? He's far from stupid. He still foes his best to foster peace because why wouldn't he?). And, now, he's actively fighting his curse, and is doing so the second he got an ounce of hope.

I think why he hasn't really thought of fighting the Gods is bc a) he's still scared of them (and it makes sense, I'd be scared too) and b) he never knew that they, well, were just people. I think he'd need some convincing, but I really think he'd be happy to try his hand at giving Light a piece of his mind lol. Something tells me Oz has millennia of bottled up anger- something will eventually be the straw that broke the camels back, as even the most resilient of people can break.

Though I think the biggest issue would be the idea of teaming up with Salem. He's bitter and terrified of her, and although we don't know exactly what's happened between them since their first fight (beyond Oz spending several lives as an alcoholic, then wandering Remnant being reminded of Salem (not necessarily bc he thought every Grimm attack was her, Grimm just remind him of her)), it's entirely possible Salem has also done... something to hurt him. No one's that bitter or terrified of someone for absolutely no reason, but whatever the reason is, that'll definitely be an obstacle between him being allied with her against the Gods. Plus she also, yknow, tortured him and allowed Hazel to torture him (which Oscar took most of it, but they're in the same body).

I think that interaction would be... interesting. Especially since I really don't think Oz even is 'Ozma' anymore. Ozma is the foundations yes, but the merge changes you fundamentally. He has changed his name every lifetime (if Oz doesn't accidentally answer to the name Oscar I'll eat my left shoe), but how much of him really is Ozma anymore? Ship of theseus and all that. If he, by all accounts, isn't 'Ozma' anymore and Salem isn't aware of this, I think it'd be an interesting revelation for her. There's similarities between Oz and how he used to be, but I feel like 'Ozma' is functionally a deadname for him (Oz trans/DID allegory? /j). Especially since I think Ozma is just- not who he is anymore. He's tried living up to the name, but he can't and he knows it (the words his illusion in v9 says speaks a lot to his mental state and his opinion of himself).

God speaking of his illusion on v9, I think it's incredibly clear that what each illusion says pertains to that character in some way. And it says so so much about Ozpin and how he sees himself. It's ironic how the God of Light, associated with creation, made him, yet he thinks that all he does is destroy. He's scarily good at splitting people apart just accidentally (i.e. v6, Summer basically throwing him under the bus thus STRQ broke apart and blamed him, etc) too. Yet Salem, immortal via Lights curse, made herself through Grimm and is very good at rallying people. Dunno, fun thought there (it's why swap aus are so damn tasty with these two).

Sorry for the long ask, I just wanted to ramble in your inbox for a bit. I have many thoughts about Oz.

not. to be snarky but

To live free or die, it’s all the same The enemy was right, there’s no reclaiming In waves of shame We’re desperate to make amends But through a simple soul we lie complacent  Love brings us dreams But grief makes the heart burst at the seams  As light fills my eyes I’ll picture me beside her And pray that I’ll inspire  I promise I’ll be here until the end I promise I’ll be here until… Our story has been told Til our bodies break down every door Til we find what we’ve been looking for

terrified she’ll never forgive him and terrified of what will happen if she confronts the gods again, yes. but terrified of her?

the enemy was right. we’re desperate to make amends. grief makes the heart burst at the seams. i’ll picture me beside her. ozma isn’t terrified of salem; he is, explicitly, ashamed of himself and desperate to make amends and longing for her.

listen. you don’t have to go salem did dot dot dot something to hurt him. we KNOW exactly what she did; rejected the mandate, fought him, burned him alive. they blew up their home and killed their own kids. is this insufficiently traumatizing to explain him.

similarly i do not have to go ozma did dot dot dot something to salem: we know exactly what he did. we know why she’s furious and bitter and still hurting. it is not ambiguous.

he’s spent the intervening centuries hiding inside a narrative where salem is the Great Evil he must defeat because the guilt he feels for deceiving and manipulating her and the grief for everything he sacrificed is so unbearable that he can’t touch it except through layers and layers of distortion. but it’s bleeding through the cracks everywhere. the infinite man tried to be a hero and is a fool who may not be worthy of forgiveness, ozpin suggests. look far enough ahead from the ending of the girl in the tower, and you’ll find the hero who saved her turned out to be a villain.

he hates salem. (he deserves her hatred.) this is the wrenching internal war he fights with himself day after day and life after life; the only way he can live with himself enough to function is by hating her, but the hatred is a fiction, a lie, to protect him from his fear. the truth is that he neither hates her nor deserves her hatred.

i am being intentional about calling him ozma, by the way. i am also intentional about when i call him ozpin or oz. i do not think ozma is a deadname. i don’t think ozma is an ideal he is trying and failing to live up to. he doesn’t identify himself as ozpin; he says “the professor ozpin you all met was not my first form.” he dons these other identities as a mask—i am the combination of countless men who have spent their lives trying to protect the people of remnant—because he hates himself. ozma is who he’s running away from because he doesn’t think ozma has ever been enough.

that is why. salem distinguishes between ozpin and ozma the way that she does. and why she is able to differentiate between oscar and ozma even when oscar is mimicking ozpin, because ozpin is the latest in a long series of masks that ozma wears.

(ozpin is tippetarius enforcing his own exile, and thus he became the wizard. ozma is the true self imprisoned by the curse. he’s… named ozma for a reason.)

”what if you could be anyone?” <- the blacksmith does not ask ruby this question because ruby needs to stop being herself in order to be happy. she offers ruby a metaphorical representation of ozma’s curse—what if you could be anyone, slip into a like-minded soul and become that person—in order to guide ruby to the realization that only her true self is the right fit. this is what i like to call blunt force foreshadowing.

ozma is trying to be a thousand different heroes and salem has only ever wanted ozma. ozma then is not the same person as ozma now, but ozma is ozma is ozma. the ship of theseus is the ship of theseus, then as now. on those who enter the same rivers, ever different waters flow. read heraclitus.

the thing is. yeah. he’s going to snap like a brittle twig when he learns the truth about the gods… because he already knows salem is right, deep down. the enemy is right. it bleeds through even into the lost fable, which is narrated in his voice. jinn’s telling—his telling—obfuscates and twists away from salem’s interiority, her feelings, her motives except for the moment of her realization about the brothers: perhaps the gods were not as powerful as they seemed; she had lied to them, turned them against each other; they were fallible.

the enemy is right. he knows she’s right.

hearing what the kids learned in the ever after is going to shatter the cognitive dissonance preventing him from acting on that knowledge. it’s going to surface ‘until the end’ but now joined to the hope he has—since the end of v8—that he can make amends for his cowardice and lies.

ozma apologizing to the kids and asking for a second chance to earn their trust was, uh, a practice run for ozma apologizing to salem and asking for a second chance. the fallout of the lost fable (“there was so much you hadn’t told us! how could you think that was okay!” and “i gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world; i thought i was finally doing some good!”) is a reflection of salem’s distress. the narrative is on her side. because. he lied to manipulate her and grievously betrayed her trust. in exactly the same way he did to the kids.

#like until the end is literally his pining love letter to salem. he wants to be on the same side again so badly #the only thing stopping him is he’s convinced himself it’s impossible because how could she ever forgive him. how could he ever be worthy #meanwhile she’s enraged because she would have given him anything else but what he asked her to do #and he burned it all to the ground and salted the earth rather than give her the one thing she asked in return #which was to not serve the god who tortured her for millions of years! #he was worth everything to her and to him she was worthless. #together in all things even this.

[andrastesgrace]

Mara Jade + tooka cats

There are two Luke Skywalkers.

The farmboy-turned-flyboy in him is a crack shot, can diagnose a problem with her ship faster than any mechanic in the core, and is wickedly funny, when he wants to be. When he remembers he can be.

The Jedi, though - the one who is allergic to colors and smiling, the one who has apparently forgotten that he isn't even thirty years old yet - is a gifted mediator, a skilled warrior, and much to Mara's eternal annoyance, usually right.

He's also a little shit. She'd almost jumped out of her skin last week in her Coruscant docking bay when he just. Appeared. Behind her. Wearing that stupid passive expression and looking at her expectantly, as though she shouldn't have sworn in three languages and nearly sliced him in half with his own father's lightsaber.

"If only someone were willing to train you," he said with a completely straight face. "You might've seen that coming."

Mara called him a bastard, then, and he grinned. She threw a spanner at his head for good measure, but he just stepped aside and asked her if she was hungry.

They ate ribenes from a cart in the lower city, and didn't talk about his thinly veiled request.

He asks less, now, and she's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed. Since the beginning, he's always asked, even back when she wasn't sure if she still wanted to kill him or not. But now, as then, she's wary. Not of him, not really. She's run through every scenario in her head, and she doesn't really think he'd ever truly become a danger. But he also doesn't want to listen to her, either, when she suggests that perhaps, some Jedi teachings of the past should stay in the past.

Deep down, there's something that makes her uncomfortable about the way he can just. Switch off his entire personality like the press of a button. He would never hurt her, but sometimes he isn't him.

So instead of becoming his student, she devotes her time to becoming a pain in his ass. Annoying him is the quickest way to shake him out of it. At first it's just little things - mispronouncing the names of famous podracers, putting pepper in his tea, and once, conspiring with R2-D2 to play nothing but Nemoidian showtunes everywhere he went.

"You're doing this on purpose," he says blithely one afternoon, and she looks at him with an innocent. "Who me?" in her expression. After a while, she needs more ammunition. She means to ask Solo, but when she hunts down the office he never uses in the New Republic's shiny new military complex, Leia is there instead. "Tooka cats," says Leia after she explains her mission.

"Tooka cats?" "He can't even look at them without laughing," The corners of her lips turn up in a half-smile. "Something about the eyes." *** "Are you proud of yourself?" he says when she sees him later, the grin still lingering in his eyes as he lets himself onto the Jade's Fire.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She does. She watched it on the holos, the emergency channel on his datapad pinging as he stood in the background of some very important New Republic something-or-other. The first time, he managed to keep a straight face, but only just. But she didn't just have one. She wasn't an amateur. All in all, she sent him about thirty of the most ridiculous pictures of tooka cats that she could possibly find. They were naturally funny looking creatures - a little too creepy for her taste, with their beady eyes and claws, but something about them made Skywalker take one look at them and forget he was a Jedi at all. The sight of him bursting into giggles on live broadcast while Mon Mothma was trying to give a Very Important Speech is going to keep her going for *years.*

"You're a menace," he says, dropping down next to her where she's examining her ship's tractor beam manifold. Thing's been malfunctioning for months.

"I'm a delight."

Skywalker is quiet for a moment. His bright blue eyes catch on the faulty wiring she's been attempting to finagle into working order since she landed here, and he absently grabs a spanner and begins tinkering.

This close, she doesn't have to reach to feel the shifting current of his emotions. "You are," he says softly. A few twists of his hand and a couple of button presses, and the tractor beam's diagnostics panel is all green. Showoff. "I wish you'd let me train you," he says finally, setting the spanner down beside him. There are no accusation in the words, but she feels the lingering merriment in the Force give way to a dull loneliness. Mara knows why he keeps asking, and it's not because she's any great Jedi talent. She's...fine at it, she supposes, but Skywalker is asking for one thing when he needs another. "I'd be an awful student," she says finally, bumping her shoulder with his, and he gives her his own version of Leia's half-smile . "But I guess I should probably make sure you aren't dead from time to time." He chuckles, and shakes his head. "Yeah, you're my best friend, too."

#fanfic #Star Wars #Star Wars fanfic #Luke Skywalker/Mara Jade #luke/mara #mara jade #as it turns out #more than 20 years later #I am still LukexMara trash

[asingleietsist]

"A Green Queen" AU

Daisies

The yoshi leapt and bounded as it tried its best to keep up with the floating ship.

"C'mon, we're almost there!", She exclaimed. "Just a little bit ahead"

The yoshi huffed only to skid to the side and run to the left. "Wait, no! The ship is that way!"

She tried to steer its reins to the right, but it yanked its head back again and sped towards the open desert.

It looked up and leapt once more before an array of crimson blocks appeared, leading up to the sky.

"Oh..", she noted. The yoshi looked back at her unamused. "Hehe sorry.."

It nodded then crouched down and jumped up onto the blocks. The two came onto the final block, the ship passing it quickly, and as the yoshi bounced towards it Daisy held in her excitement.

As the foot of her ride hit the edge, the two got knocked back by a huge boulder-like figure, falling into the sand below.

"No!", She yelled as she watched the ship leave. Daisy stood up, widened her stance, and faced the stagnant rock ready to fight it.

Several Ganchans broke off from their fused boulder form and rolled past her feet towards a figure behind her. The yoshi looked over to it and hid beside Daisy once it saw him.

"Leaving without a present-" the voice coughed.

Daisy's eyes widened as she turned towards it. "Ugh, not you again!"

Prince Khufo grinned, his fur pulsed with electricity causing him to twitch and jitter uncontrollably. "Y-You know, if I didn't know any better. I'd let you go, like my poor old father did."

"Out of mercy.."

"Hah! He did it out of pity, but I know better.", He clapped his paws together and out of the ground, several Ganchans stuck to her and the yoshi, imprisoning them in stone all the way up to their necks.

"You little shi-"

"Ah! Mind your tongue there, I'm not afraid to cut it off~", he snorted. "Besides, I have a proposition. As you know, running an empire is quite boring and I'm in the mood for something... entertaining. Without the King of Koopas to play with and most of my parties being put on hold, due to the damage done to my castle. I'd like to strike a deal."

Daisy blinked then started to laugh, leaving the Prince bewildered by her reaction.

"H-Hey! Im serious!"

Daisy sniffled, "Sorry, sorry. I can't help it. All I see is a little immature kitten getting into something over his head. You don't even realize the severity of this, do you?"

Khufo's chest puffed, "Y-Yes, I do! I'm well aware of the Koopa Troopa and Bowser's army, b-but they have no king so they're weakened.", He hissed "Besides, you haven't even heard what I wanted yet. If you're so adamant about NOT listening, there's always the forcing you."

She moved her head away as his light purple claw grazed her cheek, "What do you want?"

"Simple, I want you to spy on the Queen for me."

"Queen?!"

"Yes, Bowser's husband."

"Husband?!"

"How long are you going to do that?"

"That?!", She exclaimed. He squinted his eyes as she held in her laughter.

"....By the stars, my father should've-"

"I'll.. do it. But I want to know why."

Khufo sighed, "It hasn't clicked yet? Geez, you're both stupid and ugly."

"Ugly?!"

"SHUT UP!", he yelled. His fur stood on end as he did. "Look, I know you're after the little red human. However you won't be able to catch up to them without assistance, so I'll help you get to him and you can help me find out more information on the Queen."

She looked down at the yoshi. It would take at least a few weeks and possibly a month to not only figure out where the ship was heading but also to catch up to it on time.

"Sure, what the hell.."

"Excellent! While we're here anyways, any questions?"

"You said there was a Queen? I did hear a koopa yell his name, but I didn't know Bowser took on a partner."

"It was rumored amongst his allies, but I saw it with my own eyes and they seemed...fine."

"What does he look like?"

"..... Tall, fair skin, pretty hefty, blue eyes, facial hair."

"Could you be a bit more descriptive?", She groaned.

"You'll know him when you see him", Khufo smiled. He flicked his wing, to which the Ganchans released themselves from the two captives. "Now, I'll get you a small balloon. I'll cloak it for a few hours, but after that you're on your own. Get on it before getting caught."

Daisy checked the small cuts on the Yoshi and nodded. "And medical supplies."

Khufo blinked, "what for?"

"You injured this yos-"

"He'll live. It's a few cuts, get over it."

She stood up and aimed a punch at the Prince only for a shock of electricity and magic to shock her off of him.

"Ugh..."

"Like I said. Get over it."

She glared at him as he and the Ganchans headed back towards the castle.

"C'mon, you'll need to get on before sundown."

Daisy stood up slowly, the yoshi slightly nudged her to get on but she shook her head, "I'll be fine. You on the other hand..."

She ripped a few strips of clothes from her cloak and tied them around as many cuts and gashes as she could.

The yoshi beamed at the bandages then turned to her wagging its tail. She nodded and it gave her a quick lick to the face, causing her to laugh.

"You're welcome! Now, let's get going..", she sighed. Her eyes looked over to the Prince who was waiting for them to follow.

Both exchanged a glare, but she simply walked towards him, gripping the reins tightly. Her hands shook violently, upset she couldn't do anything further.

#bowuigi #a green queen bowuigi fanfic #a green queen au #super mario #super mario land #super mario sarasaland #daisy sarasaland #yellow yoshi #super mario bros #smbs

[emmaelix]

Someone Call Keigo; Hawks x Reader

I DO NOT OWN MHA THE ANIME OR THE MANGA. NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS ARE MINE EXCEPT FOR Y/N. MEMES ARE NOT MINE. 

Full Title: Someone Call Keigo: Hawks X Pregnant Wife! Reader

Y/n: Your Name. Y/L/N: Your Last Name Y/H/C: Your Hair Color. Y/E/C: Your Eye Color. Y/S/C: Your Skin Color

Ships in This One-Shot: Keigo Takami (Hawks) X Reader/ You, Mineta X Trash

Your Quirk: You're basically Mic but with quieter powers. Your quirk is called Megaphone, it allows you to yell at amplified levels. The only problem? You can lose your voice very quickly. 

It wasn't that Y/n resented her husband for being a Pro Hero. She always wanted to be one but had found her quirk more useful in the Disaster Squad, a set of five or six individuals with quirks that could help in a large-scale emergency. She had created it with the help of her husband, Keigo Takami. Aka, Pro Hero Hawks. 

She also didn't resent his trainee, Fumikage Tokoyami, for asking Keigo to help him train. That was kind of his job, after all. And she was glad she was currently in the main dorms of UA. Because she really needed their help. 

Y/n was eight and a half months pregnant. That, in itself, was her problem. Because her water had broken early. This was her first baby, so she had no clue what to expect. Fortunately, Momo Yaoyorozu had gotten a hold of Todoroki's older sister, Fuyumi, who thankfully was off of work today. 

"Just breath," Fuyumi said as Y/n sat distressed in a chair. She hadn't gotten any contractions yet, but what really worried her was that Keigo wasn't picking up his phone. At all. And Y/n knew that Keigo wouldn't break his word to her and go on patrol, would he? 

"Momo, can you call Tokoyami for me? Kei isn't picking up his phone," Momo looked confused for a second before registering that Kei meant Pro Hero Hawks. 

"Okay, he should have his phone on," Momo said, clicking a button on her phone as it began to ring. Soon after, a voicemail message played. Hello, you've reached Fumikage Tokoyami. Please note that as I have not picked up the phone I'm probably on patrol. Please leave your name and number and I will try to get back to you as soon as possible. Click!

"Tokoyami, this is Momo. Call me back when you can," Momo said before hanging up. 

Fuyumi's phone began to buzz. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, but this is my principal. He's probably calling about one of my students, I should-" Fuyumi started before Y/n cut her off. 

"I get it, it's work. Go talk to him, and if you can come back, please do, if you can't I understand."

Fuyumi smiled slightly before picking up her phone and quickly walking out of the room. 

The reason Y/n was even here was because of her work. She was here talking to the students about her program, which Momo and Ochaco had already been helping her with. However, she still didn't know everyone in Class 1-A. 

A small boy with purple balls on his head walked in and immediately stopped when he saw Y/n and some of the girls from 1-A. Is this a teacher's child? She wondered as he walked towards them. 

Momo made a gagging sound at the sight of the boy. "Mineta, get out. We have better things to do them be harassed."

Harassed? "Momo? Who is this?" Y/n asked the teen next to her as Momo glared, slightly uncharacteristically at Mineta. 

"A perv who unfortunately goes to UA." 

"And who might you be, pretty lady?" Mineta asked, walking up to the chair Y/n sat in. 

"Someone you don't want to mess with. My name is Soundclap, but you might also know me from my husband. Pro Hero Hawks," Y/n said, glaring daggers at Mineta. If the girls she worked with didn't like him, she didn't like him either. Mineta yelped and ran away. Momo laughed. 

"Thank you, Sensei Sou-" Before Momo could finish her sentence her phone began to ring. "Oh! It's Tokoyami. Hello?" 

Momo put Tokoyami on speakerphone. "Momo? What's wrong? I got your message. Sensei Hawks and I are on patrol." 

"Well, he's not supposed to be," Y/n said, lowering her voice and clenching her fists. 

"What? Why?" 

"Because I'm in LABOR!" Y/n yelled through the phone, using her quirk at the end of her sentence. 

                 -------------------------------

"Because I'm in LABOR!" Whoever was on the phone with Tokoyami, Hawks could hear them yelling through the phone so loudly that Tokoyami had to remove the phone from his ear and put it on speakerphone. 

"AND BESIDES THAT, THE FLYING ASSHOLE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE HIS PHONE ON AT ALL TIMES! ESPECIALLY SINCE I'M IN LABOR AT THE UA DORMS WHILE HE'S ON FREAKING PATROL!" Suddenly, Hawks realized who was on the phone. His wife. 

Tokoyami looked from his phone to Hawks with fear in his bird-like eyes. Hawks was frozen in place. "Did she say... labor?" He squeaked. "Y/n's gonna kill me," He muttered to himself as he walked in circles. He picked up one of the unconscious villains in the alleyway. 

"I'm not gonna see my child because my wife's gonna kill me!" He shrieked to the man he held by the collar. Hawks' wings furled and unfurled with his heavy breathing.

             ---------------------------------

"Well, I thought you were dead already since you weren't picking up your phone! But now I guess I get to do the honors!" Y/n yelled as tears started to run down her cheeks. If Keigo was here right now he would stroke her cheek and kiss away her tears. But he wasn't here, he was on patrol, which he promised he wouldn't do until the baby was born. He had made that promise almost a month ago. Did he really just forget that quickly?

Momo seemed to notice her distress. "Do you need me to talk to him?" Y/n sighed and nodded, knowing that overstressing would be bad for the baby. 

"Listen, Pro Hero Hawks. Your wife is a crying mess, and she might have a child - your child - at any point. So I don't give a damn if you're on patrol or if you have villains to fight. Give me your coordinates, I'll gladly fill in, but you need to be here with your wife," Momo paused before she picked back up the phone. "And furthermore she told me you broke a promise you made to her? Wasn't that promise you wouldn't go on patrol in the first place?" 

Hawks was stuttering on the other end of the phone. How was it, Y/n wondered, that a sixteen-year-old girl commanded so much authority? "I'm sorry if I overstepped any boundaries, but I felt it needed to be said," Momo said, smiling softly and picking the phone back up as Tokoyami picked up the phone. 

"I think your little chat worked, Momo, Sensei Hawks is having a nervous meltdown, I think. Or breakdown? Anyway, I think he's going to get us back to UA." 

            ----------------------------

I really enjoyed writing this. It won't be a regular theme, but it's still fun.

#hawks x reader #mha #my hero acedamia #mineta's a perv #pregnant reader #hawks x pregnant reader #mentions of labor

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

A Kiss Kiss

Ship: Eddie x bestfriend!reader

Summary: The Hellfire Club is one member short, but Eddie refuses to let the campaign slow down. That's where you come in, Eddie's "tutor" turned into his muse.

Word Count: 4,728 words

Warnings: mention of sickness, fluffy, pining Eddie, oblivious reader, brief/slightly bad description of a D&D session, sugar as a pet name for reader, excessive mention of how pretty Eddie's eyes are

Note: This fic is set several weeks before the events of season 4. The campaign is leading up to the session we see in the show! Reader has graduated, but stayed in Hawkins to help Eddie graduate.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

"Lights...perfect. Got everything here... Where are my— There are my character sheets. Do I have...? Yes."

Eddie paced around the room one more time, checking everything for the fifth time. He needed to be certain that everything was ready. The session had to go perfectly. He'd planned for every possible curveball the party could throw at him, every stupid request and every bad roll and every plot twist he could use without straying too far from the course of the game. He'd been building up this campaign for too long to let it go awry just a few sessions away from his grand finale.

He twisted his rings around his fingers, giving the table one last look before sitting on his throne.

"It's gonna be fine," Eddie mumbled to himself, adjusting his stack of character sheets. "Everything's gonna be ooohhh-kaaaay."

The door opened. He looked up, expecting his players, and found you standing in the doorway instead, your eyebrow raised.

"Do I want to know why you're psyching yourself up for this like you do before your exams?"

Eddie groaned. "Let's not talk about my exams."

You made your way over to your own chair, which was sat just a few feet away from Eddie's. (He'd been inching it closer to him every time, but he wasn't going to tell you that, and he didn't think you'd noticed yet.) "You mean the exams you should be studying for?"

"They're weeks away! I have to finish the campaign, too."

Your eyebrows knitted as you leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "You have to graduate, Eds."

For a moment, his heart dropped into his stomach. He hated that. He hated the way you sounded both hopeful and hopeless. He hated knowing where that sound came from, that you were really hoping the two of you would finally leave Hawkins together, like you'd planned to do two years ago, before he got told he wasn't graduating.

He still remembered the way your face had dropped when he'd told you. That looked crossed your face in his nightmares.

"If I don't—"

"Eddie..."

"If I don't," he repeated, a bit more forceful, "you don't have to stay with me. You should go to college and start your life."

You reached over, putting your hand on top of his. "You're going to graduate this time. You're so close, Eddie. You just need to pass your finals, and then you're out of here."

He looked over at you, expecting anger or annoyance, but he just found kindness. He always found kindness. "You can tutor me later, okay?"

"Good—because I brought all my physics notes, and there's no way in hell I'm lugging those things around for no reason."

Eddie grinned. You returned it, seeming to stare into his soul. Eddie felt a familiar flutter, one that he'd been ignoring for the past four, almost five, years. He buried it quickly, before he could get distracted enough to lose track of his campaign.

Not today, Munson, he told himself, tearing his eyes away. He could see how your gaze lingered on him for a moment, soft enough that he almost wanted to admit he was feeling those flutters—and possibly ruin eight years of friendship in the process.

"Not today," he mumbled to himself.

You raised your eyebrows. "What was that?"

"Nothing important." He glanced over and found your eyes pinned on him, gaze narrowed. "I'll tell you later." You nodded, satisfied, and he neglected to tell you that later meant on my deathbed.

The door opened again, and this time it was Gareth and Jeff. Eddie grinned the instant he realized their excitement matched—maybe even surpassed—his.

He left his throne to clap Gareth on the back. "Ready for this?"

Gareth grinned. "You have no idea. I've planned for everything you could throw at us."

Jeff snorted. "No, you didn't. Look at his notebook—he's got plans within plans over there."

"Ah, ah, ah! No you don't!" Eddie swooped back to his spot, dramatically clutching his notebook to his chest. "Avert your eyes."

You giggled from the corner. Eddie glanced over and the flutters came back; you were doing that beautiful thing you did, where you tried to cover your smile with your hand but it still peeked through. God, Eddie loved that smile—and he knew the rest of Hellfire did, too. He glanced back over and found Gareth practically swooning, very red in the face. He rolled his eyes.

"Where are the little sheep?" he asked, glancing at the empty spots where the three freshman he'd adopted usually sat. "And Grant? Jesus, where is everybody?"

"Grant is on his way, saw him in the hall," Jeff said. "Don't know anything about the freshies."

Eddie's jaw clenched. "If Sinclair's skipping out on us for basketball, I swear to God—"

You put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to you immediately, missing the look that passed between Gareth and Jeff. "Easy there, Eds. Maybe they got held for a few minutes after class. You know there are plenty of teachers here that will hold back a class they think has been too rowdy after the bell. Or..." You fixed him with a stern look he would never admit made his stomach swoop. "Certain rowdy students."

He looked away from you, awkwardly rubbing the burning blush climbing his neck. "It was one time!"

"Twice," you insisted. "And that's only that I know of! For all I know, it could have happened on nights we weren't going out, and you just never told me!"

Gareth peered around Eddie to see you. "Going out?"

You nodded. "For milkshakes and things—"

Eddie pushed his finger against your lips. "Shhhh, let's not talk about that, okay?"

You met Eddie's gaze. Mutual understanding passed between you, accompanied by an intense heat and a deep sense that you had misspoke. Eddie felt embarrassment curling in his stomach; it was clear that while you didn't understand you were about to describe the failed attempts at dating you Eddie had made throughout the years, the other two absolutely did. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Once again, the door opened, this time slamming directly into the wall next to it. Eddie's eyes flicked away from you and toward the two freshman in the doorway, Dustin ahead of Lucas, who still had his arm pushing the door open. Both were frozen, eyes wide as if they'd interrupted something they weren't supposed to attend.

But then Eddie realized what the situation looked like to them. He had, unknowingly, wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you close to him to press his finger against your lips.

And with the way you were looking at him...

Eddie cleared his throat and let go of you, stepping away as if nothing had ever happened. "Where's the third one?" he snapped.

"Um...that's what we came to tell you," Dustin said, glancing at Lucas for support. "He. Um. Mike is..."

"Not feeling well," Lucas put in. "So he won't be here today."

Eddie knew his expression wasn't pleasant. He didn't try to change it. "Not...feeling...well," he repeated, words staccato and mocking.

The two boys nodded.

"Is he alright?" you asked.

"Uh...not really?" Dustin squeaked. "He, um." Lucas kicked him in the shins.

"He what?" Eddie snapped.

You put your hand on Eddie's back, shooting him an admonishing glare. His stomach swooped again, a pleasant mix of fear and arousal. He sat in his throne, placing his elbows on the armrests and leaning forward, hoping it would hide the tent in his pants he was sure would make an appearance if you kept up with those gentle touches.

"What's wrong with little Wheeler?" Eddie sighed, trying to soften his voice. You didn't glare at him again, so he guessed he did a good enough job.

Grant appeared behind the two freshman. "Does anybody know that Mike just threw up in the hallway?"

Lucas groaned as Dustin tried to hide the words with a belated, hissing shush.

"Oh, Jesus," Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With his hair creating a curtain to hide his face, he wiped his hand over his face, willing himself to pull it together.

He felt a hand on the back of his chair. When you spoke, he knew it was you. "Does Nancy know?"

Lucas nodded. "We went to tell her. That's why we were late."

"Shut up!" Dustin hissed. "Mike didn't want us to..." He glanced over. "Oh, what the hell? Cat's already out the bag."

"Nancy?" Gareth frowned. "What's she got to with it?"

You fixed him with a dry look that spat his question back in his face. Eddie had seen that look before, hated every time it was directed at him but loved when the other boys pining over you got it. "To take him home, Gareth."

"But what about the campaign?"

"What, you'd rather him throw up on the table? I'm sure Eddie would love that, wouldn't you?"

Eddie folded his hands together. "No, but it does create a problem—we are now one player short."

Silence fell. Eddie felt the question building up, felt everyone come to same realization and "solution" at the same time. He rapped his fingers against the armrest, waiting to see who would be brave enough to suggest it first.

It was Gareth. "Should we...postpone? Wait for him to get better?"

Eddie's attention snapped toward him. "Oh? Wait for him to get better, you say? And how long's that gonna take? A week, two? No—waiting would throw off the entire campaign. We need a sub for him."

"No one would play with such short notice, Eddie," Jeff said, shaking his head. "If this happened yesterday, maybe we could find someone, but everyone's left. Unless you want to go ask the basketball team if they'll spare another player—"

"Don't be stupid," Eddie growled.

"There's no sub, Eddie, you have to be reasonable about this," Gareth began. Eddie bristled.

"I'll sub."

Every head in the room turned toward you. Surprise flooded Eddie's brain. You wanted to play? The last time you'd played, it had been the same situation. You'd stood in for someone else, halfway through a campaign, and had been so confused you'd sworn off D&D for good.

"What?" Dustin said.

"I'll play in Mike's stead," you said. "I've done it before. Long time ago, and it wasn't exactly...great, but I'll do it." You glanced at Eddie. "If you want me to, that is. I know last time was kind of a disaster, but—"

Eddie worldlessly shuffled through his stacks. He sifted through every page and then flipped open a very worn down folder. There, at the back, was the page he was searching for. He handed it to you.

"Is this...?"

"The same character sheet as last time? Yep."

You stared at him. "You kept it?"

He shrugged. "'Course I did. I keep everything."

"No wonder your room is so messy," you teased.

He rolled his eyes. He saw Dustin's eyes go huge and knew the kid had taken it the wrong way. He had no desire to correct him. "Alright, that's enough of that. Everybody sit." He caught your arm before you could move away from him. "You stay close in case you need help. You need a refresher?"

You glanced down at the sheet he'd given you. "Um...maybe a little? Sorry."

"No problem, sugar. C'mere a second."

You did as you were told, the pet name going through you like lightning. Only Gareth seemed to notice, his gaze losing a little bit of light as he did.

~❊~

The ticking of a clock filled the room, coming not from the one on the wall but from Eddie himself, who was surprisingly good at mimicking the sound with his mouth. An eerie, whispering, scraping sound filled the room. If you hadn't been next to Eddie, where you could see his hand scraping the underside of the table, it would have freaked you out. On your other side, Lucas tensed.

"You hear it from a distance at first," Eddie said, his voice low. "But it's getting closer with every second." He mimicked the clock again. "The sound of magic and of chains."

Gareth shuddered.

"There's chanting around you. Too late, you realized you've stepped into a trap."

Half of the table groaned. Eddie's face lit up with a maniacal grin.

"He enters the clearing, cloaked and whistling." Eddie whistled. Unsteady and menacing, he swept his gaze across the table, making brief eye contact with every single player. "Try as you might, you have not the wits to escape me." His voice was deep and gravelly. Goosebumps broke out on your skin. You'd heard Eddie change his voice time and time again, but it never failed to shock you. "There is no stopping power as great as this."

Eddie locked eyes with you. A thrill went down your spine. "Yet there is always room for improvement. Magic is never satisfied."

"Here we go," Dustin whispered, his hands in white-knuckled fists.

Eddie leaned back. "From his cloak, Vecna draws a dagger. He lifts it into the air. Ritual must be satisfied." He turned to you. "What do you do, dear traveller?"

Your heart stopped. This was different from the lighthearted flirting you'd been doing with the other characters Eddie had pit you and the others against. You knew enough from his summary to know Vecna was not one of his regular, smaller villains, and you knew from the fear from the others around the table there was only one way this was going to go.

"I...try to stall Vecna, try to attack to give the others time to get away," you said after a moment. Eddie paused briefly, something flashing in his eyes. Slowly, he grinned.

"Roll," he said, nodding to the dice he'd set in front of you at the beginning of the game.

Heart in your throat for no apparent reason, you did. You didn't have to look at it to know how it went; you heard the groan of the others around you, heard the soft sound Eddie made, and knew your roll had not been high enough.

"You run at Vecna but are easily caught," Eddie said, and you reopened your eyes. "He puts the dagger at your throat. The others are terrified and trying to decide if they should help or run." He looked at the others. "Well? What do you do?"

You heard them each say that they would try to help, voices trembling. But roll after roll was far too low, so, one by one, they fled.

Eddie turned back to you. "So much for your friends, little one. Perhaps you shall meet them again, when I have killed them, too. He shoves the dagger through you and your world goes black, but not before you..." He made eye contact with you. There was a plea in his gaze. You studied him, saw the exhaustion in him. You glanced at the clock on the wall; the session had been going for nearly three hours. You could tell he was hoping it would be done very soon—and that you had a chance to end it now.

But what did you have to do?

Curse Vecna? Spit in his face? Cleverly not die?

Eddie licked his lips, hiding a mouthed word in the action. Summon.

You sucked in a breath. "I cast a summoning spell."

There's triumph in Eddie's face. "For what?"

You let instinct guide you this time. "Anyone who can help. Anyone who can defeat Vecna."

Eddie's grin was nearly villainous. "Roll, sugar."

You closed your eyes again and let the dice fly from your hands. You waited, not breathing, until you heard it stop roll. Eddie gave a shout of victory.

"Your spell is successful! With your last breath, you summon help from all four corners of the world, and lo and behold, a figure appears in the woods before you. As the world goes black, you see a cloaked man step out from the shadows. He throws back his hood and Vecna sneers. You catch a glimpse of his face as your vision fades to black, and standing above you is your savior—Kas the Bloodyhanded."

Eddie snapped his book shut. The reaction was immediate, his party leaping to their feet, yelling and shouting. You flinched against the wall of noise. Eddie grinned at you.

"Not bad for your second go," he said, voice still low and husky underneath the noise.

You smiled at him. "I hope you're aware I'm not letting you get away with not studying tonight."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Of course not."

Dustin finally succeeded in trying to get Eddie's attention by leaning over Lucas and peering around your arm. "What?! Kas? That's insane!"

You leaned out of the conversation, leaving your chair and gathering up the notebooks and pencils you'd left on the floor. You might not have understood everything that was going on in the game, but you enjoyed it nonetheless; the party clearly loved what Eddie had put together just as much as he did. You knew that appreciation was not something Eddie saw often, and you were glad he got it here, at least.

The party stayed longer than they normally did after games, until Steve poked his head through the door and scolded Dustin to get a move-on. The others dispersed quickly after that, until it was just you and Eddie left.

He turned to you with a huge grin. "That was amazing, huh?"

You giggled. "I'll admit I was a little confused, but I'll chalk that up to joining in on a session halfway through your campaign and not your DM'ing skills."

Eddie started his cleanup process, reorganizing the table and putting away everything that wouldn't be needed until the next session. He eyed you. "I'm surprised you got my hints—happy, of course, but surprised, too."

You left your stuff on your chair and helped him clean the table. You shrugged. "I knew you were tired. And you'd explained the campaign up to now well enough, I knew what you meant when you said to summon." You shivered. "But I see now why the boys are always so terrified during games. It's so high-stakes!"

Eddie grinned, and it looked slightly malevolent. "Helps that I'm so intimidating."

"You're joking, but you're absolutely intimidating," you said. "I've never seen you so intense before." You gave him a sly, teasing smile. "Maybe if you applied that to your studying, we'd be in a different state by now."

The smile slid off Eddie's face. Guilt clouded his eyes, and you knew immediately you hadn't come off as joking as you'd like to have.

"Oh, Eddie, I didn't mean... That's not what I wanted it to sound like."

He sighed heavily. "No, but you're right. You could be out of here, at least. I mean, like I was saying earlier—"

You dropped the papers you were holding and cut him off by cupping his face in your hands. His breathing stopped along with his words. You were shaking your heard fiercely.

"That's enough of that, Eddie. I told you I was going to help you graduate, and I am. I'm not leaving you here, Eds. I can't imagine life without you. You have been here for me through everything, and I'm going to to the same for you. Alright?" You ran your thumb across his cheekbone. "You mean the world to me."

He curled his arms around you, tugging you flat to his chest and squeezing tight. "Thank you for believing in me," he whispered, just as he had when you'd first told him you were going to help him graduate. You were just glad this time the words came without tears.

"I've always believed in you," you whispered. "Always."

You pulled back away from him, idly playing with one of his curls. For a moment, it was just the two of you staring at each other, Eddie's big eyes more than a little wet. For a moment, the air between you changed.

Eddie's heart began to pound. He watched your gaze drop briefly from his eyes to his mouth and wondered if it was about to happen. If he'd be brave enough to let it happen.

If he did, his deathbed was a lot closer than he'd thought it was, because he knew kissing you was going to prevent him from breathing for a good hour at least.

But you just smiled at him. "Come on—let's finish up here and go through my old physics notes. You're passing that test tomorrow."

He groaned. "I forgot there was a test tomorrow."

You laughed. "What did you think I was here for?"

"Me."

"Aside from you," you said, poking him in the side. He squirmed away from you.

"Finals, I guess. Something a few weeks away—not tomorrow."

You shrugged. "If you pass your test, you can pass the exam. Hurry it up, Munson."

He wrinkled his nose. "You sound like Harrington and Henderson."

"Well, it is almost nine."

Eddie yawned. "No wonder I'm tired. Alright, come on. Let's go home."

~❊~

Stifling your third yawn of the past ten minutes, you cuddled closer into Eddie's side. The night had turned out to be one of the lazier study sessions, which took place in Eddie's bed. Judging by how tired the two of you had become the moment you sat down amongst his blankets, that had been a mistake.

Sitting up had become laying down. Laying down had become cuddling.

This wasn't new to either of you. For as long as you'd known each other, you had been touchy and physical, growing up mostly touch-starved and finding comfort with each other.

But today, it felt different. Eddie couldn't quite put his finger on why today was different from normal, but even just looking at each other when you were checking to see if he was still paying attention resulted in outbursts of giggles.

And for some reason, he was paying even more attention to the smell of your shampoo than normal as he buried his face in your hair. He sighed softly, mumbled your name, and slid his arm over your stomach, his fingers splaying across your side.

You glanced over at him, putting your notebook back down on your lap. "Hey, you okay? We can stop if you're too tired."

"No," Eddie whined into your hair, pressing closer to you. "'m gonna fail if we stop."

You glanced at your notebook. "What's the equation for kinetic energy, Eds?"

He was quiet for a minute, and then he mumbled, "One half of mass times velocity squared."

"What about gravitational potential energy?"

"Mass times gravity times height."

You closed the notebook and threw it off the bed. "I think you're going to do just fine, Eds." You rolled over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "As long as you remember the equations, you can get through the test."

Though it seemed impossible with how at ease he already was, Eddie relaxed in your arms. He hummed softly and threw his leg over yours, clinging to you.

"You can do it, Eds. I believe in you." Without really knowing what you were doing, you leaned back and bent your neck to kiss his forehead. Your voice dropped to a low whisper. "I believe in you, baby."

He hummed. After a moment, he asked, "Did you just kiss me?"

You thought about it. "Not really," you said. "It wasn't a...a kiss kiss."

Eddie looked up at you, his face so buried in your hair and your shirt that you could only see those pretty eyes of his. "Do you wanna kiss kiss?"

You stared at him. You didn't know why you said it, or what courage possessed you to do so, but you smiled, almost bittersweet, as you said, "I've wanted to kiss kiss you for three years at least, baby."

Eddie whimpered in your arms, eyes growing wide. He wriggled in your arms until you were face to face. He stared at you a moment, lifting his hand to cup your cheek.

"Hi," you whispered, feeling slightly embarrassed now that the words were out.

"Hi." His voice was just as quiet. He brushed his fingers across your face, the touch gentle and loving.

"If you don't feel the same—"

"Of course I feel the same," Eddie said. "Of course I do. How couldn't I?"

You smiled. "Well, you did a bang-up job of hiding it."

"So did you," he murmured. "I've always thought I knew everything about you, but I didn't know that."

You laughed. "I don't know how you didn't know that—I wasn't exactly subtle. Why do you think I wanted to run away with you all these years? You thought I just wanted to go start a whole new life with you just because?"

Eddie huffed. "Well, we can chalk up me not noticing to me being a bit oblivious."

You giggled. "Let's face it, we were both a bit oblivious about our feelings to each other."

"Oh, God, yeah, if I had known you liked me, I would've asked you out back in high school." Eddie brushed your hair out of your face. "So, uh... Can we kiss kiss? Please? Please?"

You giggled. "I like the enthusiasm, Eds."

He whined. "Please?"

"Yes, baby," you whispered. "Kiss me. Kiss me."

Your eyes fluttered closed the instant Eddie's lips touched yours. You held each other's faces as you kissed, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. You enjoyed the feeling—Eddie's lips were supple and soft, only slightly chapped.

When you broke apart, you smiled. "Your lips are soft."

"Yours are like heaven," Eddie said, pecking them again. "My own personal heaven." He wound his arms around you, tucking himself back into your embrace. "I'm never letting you go now, okay?"

"Oh, believe me, I never want you to." You brushed your hand through his hair, earning a soft, content sigh from him. "Let's get some sleep. And tomorrow morning—you're going to pass your physics test."

"You have such faith in me," he whispered, eyes already closing.

"Of course I do, baby," you whispered, watching him lull himself to sleep in your arms. "Of course I do."

You kissed his nose and let him fall asleep in your arms.

~❊~

You were at Eddie's trailer before he was the next day, when he got out of school. He opened the door with a huge grin on his face, that only got bigger when he saw you waiting for him on his couch.

Before you could even greet him, he flung himself down next to you and whipped out a paper. He gave it to you, practically bouncing with excitement.

It was the physics test—with a big A+ circled at the top of it, the comment of, Wonderful job, Mr. Munson! written underneath.

You squealed. You put the paper down and threw your arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Oh, baby! I knew you could do it! I knew it!" You kissed all over his face. "I'm so proud of you, Eds!"

He pulled you closer to him, meeting for a deep kiss. "All because of you, angel. My sweet angel."

You curled up on the couch together, kissing like your lives depended on it, completely unbothered by the rest of the world or the show that you had put on before Eddie came home. You looped one of your arms around Eddie's neck, bringing a smile to his face.

Neither of you heard the door open. Neither of you saw Wayne walk in and stop the moment he saw the two of you, or the grin that appeared on his face at the sight of his nephew finally kissing the girl he'd been telling Wayne about for years, always with a bittersweet, love-stricken sigh.

The smile was a contained shadow of what it was by the time he said, "Took you two long enough."

You sprang apart, grinning sheepishly, but you both could still see the pride and happiness in Wayne's face, however much he tried to hide it.

You looked back at Eddie, kissing his nose and drawing a giggle from him. "Yeah." You kissed his soft lips. "I've been thinking the same thing."

~❊~

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the E.M. taglist!} @ohatropa @lilylilyyyyyy@spencestyles@r-royce@theshiresposts@kaitebugg03@the-chocoholic-writer@noiralei@kennedyraye@yourdailymemedelivery@squidscottjeans@cannonize@sebastianstvn@corrodedcoffn

#stranger things #stranger things au #pre season 4 #hellfire club #stranger things d&d #eddie munson #dungeon master eddie #eddie x reader #eddie x bestfriend!reader #welcome to hellfire

[acourtofthought]

This is a weird question but do you really genuinely believe there's no possibility of an elriel book? And if sjm writes them well you'll enjoy reading it ? I don't ship gwynriel or Elriel. Gorgeous Elucien fan arts are what brought me into this fandom and I started the series solely to read their love story. But with all the elriel "confirmations" I can't help but think that elriel is a possibility so I'm trying to mentally prepare myself.

You are so right, there is nothing quite like Elucien fanart in this ACOTAR world and if E/riel were to happen then we lose the beautiful aesthetic of Elucien and gain, once again, another golden-brown haired femaled (often pictured with the dagger she returned without looking back) with a batboy who has Illyrian tattoos.

Would I still read an E/riel book? I would because I really do like Elain's character and I'd like to read her journey regardless of things not turning out the way I had hoped but I'd be devastated over the lost potential of Elucien. SJM has gone out of her way to show us how complimentary they would be together, how Lucien is the only male love interest who has treated her with respect so far, she even painted the picture in our heads of where they'd go on vacation (back before she thought she'd be writing the spin-offs and was more open with what their journey entailed), so it would be difficult to act like those things never mattered.

I never like to say something with absolute conviction as I feel it's inviting karma to say, "well let me just show you how many ways you can be wrong" (😂) but I do feel very strongly that E/riel is not happening. For me the debate is "will Elucien or Gwynriel get the next book" with me leaning in favor of Elucien and E/riel as a possibility makes up a very small percentage of my thoughts.

People are going crazy over her recent interviews. That a journalist writing "Elain and Az" in her article has E/riels claiming that it's SJMs version of a soft launch getting us used to the idea of E/riel. Or even some Gwynriels claiming that because she said she wanted to explore Az more in the future, he's definitely getting the next book though to me it seems she's talking about a later book because she was already drafting the next ACOTAR in September (so wouldn't she have already explored his character?).

But what seems to be her pattern is whenever she has a potential love triangle (ish) situation, she goes quiet.

In TOG, she waited to release an Aelin / Rowan Bonus until after a specific book because she felt the bonus would be too obvious a hint about them ending up together as mates and some still held out hope for Chaol / Celaena and believed Rowan lost his mate.

We have the interview below that shows she kept the possibility of Feysand a secret until after the release of ACOMAF.

She also talks about the things she put in book 3 that she was looking forward to seeing her readers excited over because, once again, it was only her, her editor and a couple of critique partners who knew "all these secrets".

She was giddy to talk about the end of CC2 because it was a secret she had kept for a very long time and told no one about.

So knowing that she does like her secrets, shouldn't the fact that Elain and / or Az are being mentioned in interviews be something that makes others nervous considering Lucien's name is almost never mentioned?

It could just as easily means he's not her focus right now but could it not also mean that she's trying to draw focus away from him so the next book being announced is a surprise?

E/riels and some Gwynriels will claim Lucien is irrelevant, that SF was centered around either E/riel or Az but Tamlin was mentioned in ACOTAR 731 times with Rhys mentioned 232 times yet Feyre ended up with Rhys in the next book. Chaol wasn't even in Empire of Storms yet he got the book after and ended up with Yrene who had never been mentioned by name prior to that.

All this talk about buildup, relevancy to the book that preceeded the new release because of name mentions or how often SJM speaks about someone in interviews as proof of something but those arguments are flimsy because we've seen her do this type of stuff before and she still turned around and surprised the reader.

The Elucien bond was introduced in book 2 and it is not just Elain's bond, it's Lucien's too especially when for him, it's been an even bigger deal because his first love was killed and he spent centuries believing she was his mate. That's an enormously angst-y setup which is the exact sort of a thing an author would want to explore versus the one where Az can't admit to being over Mor while lusting after Elain but not envisioning a future with her while also being jealous of Lucien who has only helped them and somehow turning that into a believable romance.

SJM did not create Lucien in the likeness of Jamie Fraser who she was obsessed with, mate him to Elain who she said shares her energy, only to have them never explore their mating bond which is the most sacred thing to the fae and as of SF, we see that Elain is beginning to embrace some of her fae self.

Elain fighting her pull to Lucien by ignoring him is no different than Nesta fighting her pull to Cassian by pushing him away in the novella but it's clear their story is still waiting to be told.

I find it difficult to believe that SJM had Lucien chased out of his home in book 3, finding a group of friends in the human lands in the novella while the reader knows he's heir to Day and have been waiting for that big reveal, only to then have him showing frustration with his living situation in SF but plans on having him remain in the human lands and the defunct Spring Court for yet another book (which they need as a strong ally) while Az gets his HEA with Elain.

Where Elain and Az spend the next book building up the "Dusk Court" (because that's still a thing going around) when the "Dusk Court" had nothing to do Spring, Tamlin, Koschei, Vassa or Beron as we left off in SF.

Everyone keeps claiming Az and / or Elain are needed to move the plot forward but honestly, Lucien is the one needed to truly move the plot forward and Elain by his side makes the most sense because they as a team have the powers and the connections to make something happen.

Elain is the only one who had visions of the box Koschei hides. She is the one who had visions of Vassa and the other girls trapped at the lake.

Lucien is the only one with real ties (and not just "I spy on you to gather information" ties) to Beron, Spring, the humans (which involves the treaty) and even Koschei considering he was at the lake when Papa Archeron negotiated with him and he is living with the female Koschei is now preparing to call back. He is the "son" of the man with his sights set on the lands of Spring. He is the one who is friends with Tamlin and performed in the Rite last and the NC needs Spring as an ally as well as their army. He is the one who is friends with the humans who are leading an ungoverned land and it is the human lands that Vallahan has their sights set on. "The Queen of Vallahan even asked me what the point of a peace treaty would be when another war, this time against the humans, might redraw the territory lines far below the wall."

Az and Elain would keep the plot in the Night Court outside of him possibly spying elsewhere and didn't we already see him doing that in SF? With Eris also providing them Intel? What is more spying going to do when we already know what Koschei and Berons goals are and the goal is to now stop them.

To me, the only person that is currently in a position to make a real difference at this point is Lucien and the love interest that makes the most sense to help him do these things is Elain.

Lucien has been made an underdog by the IC and I think the fandom has adopted that mentality (they've done the same with Elain).

And it makes me wonder if they are not about to be the best kept secret of all if SJM announces an Elucien book as the next one.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #pro elain archeron #elain and lucien #elucien supremacy #lucien vanserra supremacy

[aayo-whatt]

~got bored so i put the winchester gays and their angel "buddies" in an incorrect quotes generator~

PART TWO BESTIES

~~

Adam, ordering coffee: I’d like a light roast. Dean: You're kinda ugly.

~~

Cas: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter a. Michael: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory. Gabe: Fuck you.

~~

Sam: Oh my Gabe. Dean: Don't you mean 'oh my god'? Sam: You worship your god, I'll worship mine.

HELLO- IM DYING RN-

~~

Michael: Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined. Dean: Heck. Michael: You're on thin fucking ice. Michael: Oh no-

~~

Michael: If I had a face like yours, I'd put it on a wall and throw a brick at it. Gabe: If I had a face like YOURS, I'd put it on a brick and throw a wall at it.

~~

Michael: What's my sexuality?! I don't fucking know! I'm not straight, and that's all that matters. Well, maybe that's unfair to the straights. Some of my best friends are straight! Well, one of them. Well, I know them, and Dean is perfectly tolerable person in small doses!

~~

Cas: Dean, you're an asshole, man. Dean: You are what you eat Cas.

CACKLING SOBBING ON THE FLOOR DYING OH MY CHUCK-

~~

Michael: A mouse! Dean, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you. Gabe, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal! Adam, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy. Cas, gasping: It's Ratatouille! Sam: His name is Remi, dummy. Michael: I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

~~

Michael: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase? Cas: I accidentally fell down. Gabe: DEAN PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay THEIR part of our rent! Sam: Cas bet me fifty bucks that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than they did falling down it, so I slide down the banister to get my money. Adam: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Sam.

~~

Michael: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon? Cas: We're chopsticks! Michael: Well... that's cute! Michael: Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly? Dean: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

~~

Dean: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’ Sam: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

~~

*Dean dies in a game with ships* Cas: This ship is no longer a ship of love, it's a ship of vengeance, a gavel of justice against all that is wrong in the world, showing no mercy, as no mercy was shown to us. Cas: The spark of love will now fuel the fires of destructive glory as I wage my war across the world with righteous fury. Gabe: Legend has it that Dean still haunts the ship, stealing my fucking drinks. Dean: Of course I do.

~~

Adam with a gun to Sam's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven? Sam: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

~~

Cas: A butterfly! Hey, little guy, gal or nonbinary pal! Michael: Can a butterfly be nonbinary? Cas: I mean, maybe? I don't judge. Adam, staring dreamily out of the window: Ah, have you ever imagine having butterfly wings? Then- Gabe: Then it would be inconvenient as fuck. Your wings would smack every doorframe and your clothes would have to have holes in the back. Dean: Also, your wing's paper thin, so even a six year old aimed a NERF gun at it would... Yeah... Sam: *sips coffee* According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a- Adam: No, nononono. You fuckers have already shattered my dream, you don't get the fucking privilege to make that reference. Michael: Also, it's about a butterfly, not a bee... Why would you make that reference? Cas: You clearly have not lived with them long enough.

~~

Dean: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

~~

Cas: I have seen a lot of murders in my time, and all six of them were today.

~~

Gabe: Hey guys! I drew everyones soul! Sam: Why is Michael's a monster? Michael: Gabe, you forgot Sam's! Its only an empty space! Gabe, proudly: Exactly

THE THING ABOUT SAM'S SOUL IS CANON OMGKBVERIUERKJ-

~~

Sam: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along? Gabe: What did you just say- Sam: Foetons! *Laughs* Gabe: Wh-what?

that is a terrible joke i love it

~~

Dean: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey! Cas: But I'm a vegan. Dean: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

~~

Gabe: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess? Cas: Your life? Gabe: I- well yes, but-

~~

Gabe: And here we see Dean and Sam in their natural habitat. Texting eachother variations of the word "garlic bread" to try to make eachother laugh. Dean: Gaelic bread. Sam: Grueling brad. Dean: Ha ha, glamorous beans.

~~

*when sam has no soul*

Dean: Sam, you need to react when people cry! Sam: I did. I rolled my eyes.

~~

PART 1 PART 3

#spn #spn incorrect quotes #supernatural #supernatural incorrect quotes #dean #castiel #destiel #sam #gabriel #sabriel #adam #michael #midam

[loveyougoodbi]

Hello! Saw your tags and may I ask you-why you think Lestappen and Larry situations are different?

Disclaimer: when I say relationship in the following text I mean platonic

Hi!

Well for starters I think that people are looking at it from 1 angle only. And that is Max and Charles stopping communication with each other altogether. In that aspect sure, there is a small possibility that Lestappen could become Larry if they start (on their own accord) being guarded towards each other. But as we can see, they're both fully aware of the ship name and their interactions are being perceived and yet we have not seen a singe ounce of guardiness (is that a word?) In either of them. And what I do in situations like this is I think "Are these situations completely the same and should I expect these 2 people to act the same way? Why do I expect them to act the same way?)

Under the cut because it got long

So I took a look at both situations and realized how different they are. Hear me out.

1. Their ages. When all this started happening to Louis and Harry they were 16 years old. Their popularity skyrocketed in months if not weeks. They had no time to adjust, no time to think about their situations and their relationship outside of fame. They had 2 3 DAYS interactions with each other before they were put in front of a camera and told to entertain. They were 16 and 18. They were kids who did not expect to be a part of a world like this. They were not aware what they were and how their interactions would affect them and their relationship in the future. Lestappen Have known their entire life that their life would revolve around racing, around cameras, always known to the public. Max was going to races when he was 3 years old. It's safe to say he always knew what he was getting into when it comes to fame. Similarly Charles was always aware of this world. They both grew up in it. Charles had better pr training at 17 than most celebrities have in their 30s or 40s. So by the time they started being "close" in public (2022) they were already aware of what it would mean. They are already aware of the consequences. They have a history of interactions with each other. And now with what we are getting I think they are perfectly aware of what they are doing and they are perfectly aware of what their relationship is and what it means to them. Not to mention they probably have had time to nurture this relationship outside of the public eye (something Harry and louis were never able to do) and it allows them to have a bond beyond what we see on camera. Also we see a lot less of them than we did Larry at that time since 1d were.... literally filmed 24/7 which max and Charles are not.

2. Their professional environment. And I cant stress this enough. The people around Max and Charles encourage their interactions. Guys. This is very important. I big big HUGE part of Larry and the whole lore around it is THEY. WERE. NOT. ALLOWED. TO. TALK. TO. EACH. OTHER. Under ANY circumstances. Not bc they were disgusted by being perceived as gay. But because they were not allowed to. Everyone around 1d at the time was pretending this was not a thing. It was on every blacklist. They did not have segments when the guys were doing joint interviews and stuff. Even I'm videos of the band they were never alone in a frame together. When 1d started they were really young and marketed to a young audience. But also audience whose parents need to give permission/money In order for said audience to exist. To have rumors like that in that environment was unacceptable. Their teams thought these interaction were not working in their favour. And they told this to 16 and 18 yo kids who probably took that to heart and continued to live by it for years to come. They were told these rumors were the worst thing that could happen to their career and they believed it. Because they didn't know any better. In lestappen case? Their teams obviously don't mind it. They USE IT. It's a huge huge difference. If the team minded charles even mentioning maxs name and told professional pr trained Charles no talking to Max it doesn't benefit us you think he wouldn't listen? He absolutely would. But the teams are using this lestappen Situation to their advantage so Max and Charles have no reason to be guarded. They do not feel threatened by it.

Tl;dr there are 2 main reason I think Lestappen and Larry are different: One is their age and stage of their relationship at the time the rumors started and second is their their teams behavior and interaction with the ship. These 2 things together are causing Max and Charles to not be threatened by the public response to their relationship as opposed to Larry at that time

#lestappen #i cant believe i wrote this essay about this oh my god #is anyone even gonna read all that #i wouldnt #larry #i guess #since someone may have it blacklisted #f1 discussions by me

[tired-reader-writer]

BESTIE I didn't know you had Arthurian inspired oc's! :D

Hellooooooo buddy! And why yes, I do!

This is an original story idea I've been thinking about for a while, it's set in a sci-fi fantasy world with mecha and stuff, but follows the cast of the Arthurian legends. Specifically, the protagonist is Mordred who Does Not Have A Good Time throughout this entire story. I don't have a title for it yet, nothing has clicked so far, though a placeholder name is “The Sunset Knight”. (Mordred does technically has an OC tag on my blog however I've been wanting to revamp stuff and the only two original posts about Mordred, I think I might want to go and change a couple things.)

This world has a source of power that fuels ships and mechs and stuff, I haven't named it yet but let's call it Phantasm. It can be utilized both by machine and living things, and the living beings who can manipulate raw Phantasm are dubbed sorcerers. Morgana is a sorceress and Merlin is a sorcerer, for example. Most others rely on sci-fi esque equipment to wield that power without backlash.

The mechs in the Arthurian-inspired world probably have different grading based on mythological beasts or smth, I need to expand on that, and dragon mechs are both the rarest and only a select few with “dragon blood” are able to pilot them, so the Pendragons basically? There might've been other dragonblood bloodlines in the past but they're dead now, dead at Uther's hand because that guy is a massive jerk who conquered everything and beyond. And Arthur... unfortunately holding up that paradigm even though he doesn't conquer, and is actively trying to make things suck less. Anyways, back to the mechs—

Bc the dragons put so much strain on the pilots (or “riders/dragonriders” as they might be called in that world) on energy consumption in exchange for bigger firepower, rare and unique powers, etc, dragonriders unfortunately tend to die quick save for a few who have extensive support and/or a hugeass powerful Phantasmic core. Not all dragonblood are born with such massive reserves! And theoretically, a sorcerer with a massive Phantasm reserves could technically try to pilot one, but... there's a compatibility lock of sorts, incompatible pilots must pour in more Phantasm, and that drains them faster than it would drain a dragonblood.

Arthur is a dragonrider, blessed with both intensive support from Merlin's end, and in possession of a large amount of Phantasm thanks to his maternal side.

(I'll get to the actual protagonist, I swear, I just gotta set the stage first)

So Uther... conquered Igraine's kingdom (planet?) (Igraine was the ruling queen, queen regnant, and her husband Gorlois was the consort, I forget what I named this place), killed Gorlois, took and wed Igraine by force, and had Arthur with her because he wanted his offspring and heir to have massive power. Igraine's line was that of powerful sorcerers. Morgana was Igraine and Gorlois' daughter, who is very much not happy about what Uther had done to her family and homeland.

Years pass, Uther dies, Arthur is revealed to be heir where before he was raised in secret, he becomes king and starts trying to fix and calm stuff down, and Morgana, fed up with Uther's bullshit, very strongly demands that her kingdom be given back to her. And Arthur, who's grown to be this cold, sharp, exhausted individual who's trying to put out the fires his father had started, says “no, absolutely not, I'm trying to bring peace and if I give in to you now others will want the same and it will be chaos all over again because the threat of you hovering over the horizon. just have faith in me, your home planet will be fine, I promise. also you're married to a lord, you have a domain, go and take care of that.” and Morgana's having none of that because she doesn't even like Lot, it was an unwanted marriage forced on her by Uther who wanted her as far away from her homeland as possible. She wants her birthright restored, for the wrongs committed against her mother righted, just... she wants justice. And she's not getting it from Arthur. So fed up, she books it, builds a faction of her own to rebel against Uther's legacy, the one Arthur is trying to uphold.

Morgana, with her extensive knowledge and resourcefulness and creativity, creates a dragon mech. So those things require a specific core, so to speak, harvested from true dragons, those impossibly huge, cosmic sort of entities, nebulous and so incomprehensibly large... Okay, you know whale falls, right? A whale's corpse falls to the ocean floor and critters feed on it, never having known a living whale? To them, a whale's body is just an impossibly large bounty? Yeah, kinda those vibes. Maybe the true dragons are dead, with their corpses floating around in the universe. I see them less as a creature with a body and more a... deity? a collection of stars and planets? I dunno, just incomprehensible. So Morgana makes one, somehow obtains Arthur's genes (I mean, in the myths they have incestuous sex and out pops Mordred from that, but this is sci-fi, and because it's me so many characters have a wonky gender axis going on so they might not even be cis, who knows), and creates Mordred for the purpose of piloting the dragon she created. Man that thing needs a name.

So the mech Mordred's piloting, it's... one of the more energy-intensive ones specifically crafted by Morgana's faction to be extra destructive, and yet Mordred is not terribly affected by it— they still are but not to the extent they should have, and everyone chalks up to the dragonblood genes. But there's something else going on under the surface. But I'll get to that later.

So Mordred's character is... someone who's been so intensely shaped by their surroundings and circumstances. They were born to fulfill a certain role. They are unable to see themselves outside of this role they play, this mission they have. The quote “you need the sickness inside you like a body needs a spine. you may survive without it, but oh, how deformed and misshapen you'd become” basically is their whole deal. Their loyalty is madness, and their madness is loyalty.

Still, though, there lies a hole in their heart, a yearning, a hunger, a want. What it is that they want, they can't articulate. They don't understand. They don't understand the hole, so they don't understand what would fill it. It is why they try to dedicate 110% of themselves to their role, in hopes that it'd fill the hole, or at least not make them think about it.

Still, they yearn.

Later in the story, it would be revealed that they're not actually Mordred, not the one Morgana created with her and Arthur's genes. That Mordred? Dead. Dead from the strain of piloting the dragon Morgana made. They were a child, and they've been long dead. Morgana uploaded their conscious into the dragon mech to assist the new pilot and help take on some of the strain. Serving the cause, even beyond their death.

So then, who is this Mordred?

From another world.

Yes, folks, this is an isekai. From the moment I conceived of this idea, I wanted it to be an isekai. The pain of being unable to return home. The realization that even if you got back to your home world, you would no longer fit into it. The horror of having been forced to change so much that your home becomes unrecognizable to you. And being unable to bear this world you're in as well. You don't have anywhere to go anymore.

The realization breaks something in Mordred (this Mordred, not the dead one). So in a fit of desperation to be away, away from the place that they can't see the same anymore, they leave. They leave Morgana's side, and enters Camelot to serve Arthur in the vain hope that they might be able to choose something for themselves, make themselves anew, be free and happy for once even if they can no longer go home. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a home out of Camelot.

(Remember that the earliest written version of Mordred wasn't really said to be against Arthur or a traitor or a villain, or even Arthur's son, it only describes the battle of Camlann as just “The strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut fell.”, not indicating at all if they were on the same side or against each other or if Mordred was responsible for Arthur's downfall. In fact, in early Welsh sources, he seems to have been described as “Arthur's strength, the good nature of Medrawd”. Kinda relevant to this Mordred, kinda not, just an interesting thing to keep in mind.)

This is when they meet Guinevere.

In one (or several?) version of the Arthuriana, Mordred weds Guinevere by force, in mayhaps another version she may or may not have gone willingly with Mordred? And in one of the versions (probably French, I forget which one, help) that follow that line of events, uh, Guinevere is slain by Lancelot for betraying Arthur and Mordred is either buried alive with her corpse or gets locked in a tower with her corpse. And he cannibalizes her body out of desperation, and still dies of starvation.

So, yeah. This version of Guinevere becomes Mordred's love interest and so the doom clock starts ticking :)

Also, Guinevere's gender is a big ol “???” by design. Male? Female? Cis? Trans? Who even knows, Guinevere goes by both he and she. Anyways, moving on from that—

Mordred meets Guinevere, this gentle-handed fella who loves plants. And they grow a close bond, which slowly but surely develops into romance.

In this version, Guinevere isn't in love with Arthur, though he does idolize the King, believing in his vision and wanting to support that. There might or might not be push from others for the two to be betrothed to each other, I don't know how such things would work in a world like this just yet but well this is still just a fledgling idea— Arthur takes one look at Guinevere and is like “that is an entire child” and refuses to wed her.

I... am not sure whatever the hell I want to do with the character of Lancelot.

Like, I know how the cultural context surrounding the Arthuriana shaped and influenced his character, his courtly love turned into adultery etc etc, but I don't know what spin I want to put to his character. Yet. Currently leaning towards a fucked up sense of codependent devotion towards his king. Like “my king only deserves the best and by the dragons I will fucking give it to him no matter what anyone else has to say about it” and maybe he sees Guinevere as something extraordinary and thus... by imposing his own view on him he tries to yoink Guinevere for Arthur and... hm. Still up in the air, honestly.

How long has this fucking post gotten?

Okay imma just try to rapid-fire the ensuing stuff bc it's not like I have the details yet anyways: Mordred enters the Round Table -> Mordred and Guinevere fall in love -> things are fine until they aren't -> some revelation breaks Mordred's faith in Camelot -> maybe Morgana is slain, she's out of the picture for some reason -> Mordred forms their own faction from the remnants of Morgana's, goes against Camelot -> it goes on -> CAMLANN -> in the meanwhile Lancelot gets to Guinevere, uh-oh -> Arthur vs Mordred, big showdown, Arthur dies and Mordred is seriously feeling the consequences of the strain + pretty sure the mech is barely holding together at this point -> an exhausted Mordred and broken mech get their asses whooped by Lancelot, probably -> entombed alive -> cue cannibalism -> Mordred may or may not get isekai'd again at near death -> now they have to navigate this while ridden with guilt and grief and truly having nothing

So... yeah! This is a gist of what this story is about! Many details are still yet up in the air, I completely omitted the post-cannibalism stuff, the broken traumatized mess Mordred becomes by that point, if you'd like to know more I'll tell you but for now... this is it!

Oh! Almost forgot— I've drawn little concept sketches for Mordred!

Original Mordred on the left, the current Mordred before they became “Mordred” on the right, both as young children.

Current Mordred, having lost their face and memories for a long, long time.

#arthuriana #arthurian legend #arthurian mythology #arthur #mordred #guinevere #lancelot #morgana #the idea still very much needs more marinating time #so much is just a blank #my story idea #I still don't have a title for this damn thing #for now let's call it the sunset knight #The Sunset Knight #sure why not #it's just a placeholder name #rotten egg's shitty art